


Unwritten

by D_elfie



Series: Prompted Works [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Memorials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_elfie/pseuds/D_elfie
Summary: The Kirkwall band holds a memorial for Anders





	Unwritten

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt, this time from my friend Leif with _Anders_ and _Unwritten_ (to complement Unread)

“So much left unwritten,” Varric mumbled as he flipped through Anders’ manifesto. Anders had talked so much about mage rights and human rights and justice -- all things he said were covered in his manifesto. So much left uncovered in the pages Varric found on the desk. Varric had never seen the manuscript before now and he was surprised how incomplete it was. 

As one of the few members of their little band who could still wander Kirkwall mostly unharried, Varric had been assigned to gather Anders’ belongings from the Hawke mansion. There was precious little to gather. As everyone knew, Anders gave the clothes off his back to the poor of Darktown. His own clothing had been barely serviceable, even with Hawke offering to buy him new, warm clothing. That money always went to the clinic or to the mage underground. 

The manifesto was stuffed in a bag, along with a quill, a scarf and a couple tiny carvings – not doubt gifts from patients. 

With a quick look around Hawke’s bedroom, Varric hoisted the bag over his shoulder. 

“Another chapter down,” Varric said with a sad sigh. He paused on the threshold of Hawke’s mansion, as if reluctant to step into the street. Into the city that his friends no longer inhabited. Into the damp, cold gloom of Kirkwall. 

He took a deep breath and stepped out onto the cobblestones of Hightown. 

The walk out of Kirkwall and up the hills took a few hours. Varric couldn’t hire transportation lest Cassandra find out, and thus he relied on his short legs to carry him through the mud and over the slick stone of the countryside, to the designated site.

The first thing Varric noticed was faint, flickering light in the gloaming. Unconsciously, he picked up speed. Due to the uneven terrain, it was another thirty minutes before Varric reached the group. He was the last to arrive.

Varric looked around the small band of cloaked forms. He studied the sight, committing it to memory. To the stores of images he’d later use in a book or when telling the tale in a tavern. If it was ever safe to tell the tale in anything but a hushed voice in trusted company. 

Merrill was sitting near a stacked pyre, drawing in the dirt. She looked like she’d lost weight.

Isabela was there, leaning casually against the old stone wall of the long-abandoned pasture they found themselves in. Varric was slightly surprised. 

Though not as surprised as he was to find Fenris there, talking in whispers with Hawke. He must have been there to support Hawke, of course. Despite the rivalry between Fenris and Hawke, Fenris knew how much Hawke cared about Anders. How much the incident had taken from Hawke body and soul.

“Varric!” Merrill called out with a smile. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey, Daisy,” Varric said with a sad smile of his own. This wasn’t how he imagined their reunion. 

“Varric.” Hawke nodded and Fenris simply grunted an acknowledgement. Isabela waved. 

It wasn’t the energy the group usually had. Varric looked around and couldn’t help feeling the weight of loss. It was over too soon. There was so much left unwritten.

“I got the manifesto and a few other little things. There wasn’t much. He never had much...” Varric trailed off and swallowed. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Hawke’s shining eyes. There were unshed tears in the bright blue eyes. 

“Thank you, Varric. I can take it...” There was a quivering to Hawke’s voice. 

Varric handed the bag of items over to Hawke and stood back. He watched as Hawke walked over to the pyre and began pulling items out and setting them on the top of the piled wood. When it was the manifesto’s turn, Hawke paused. The tears began to flow freely as each page was turned. 

Fenris hovered nearby but seemed reluctant to disturb Hawke’s mourning. Eventually, he gathered the courage to set a hand on Hawke’s shoulder and squeeze. 

“That damned mage and his manifesto,” Fenris said was some warmth. “Mage rights and justice... where did it get him?”

“Some things are worth dying for,” Hawke said, voice hoarse. “Too bad so much of it is still unwritten. The world needed his voice. We needed his voice.”

There was a grunt of agreement from the group. 

“I’m ready when you are, Hawke,” Merrill’s soft and timid voice called from next to the pyre. 

Hawke thumbed the pages of the manifesto a minute before nodding to Merrill. 

Merrill stood and waved her hand in an arc before flicking her hand and shooting a cone of flames at the wood. It caught with a gust of hot wind and an audible whoosh.

Varric glanced around and cleared his throat. 

“Our stories begin worlds apart. We had little to bring us together, and yet here we are. A rag-tag band of misfits and troublemakers, out to save the world. None of us knew when arriving in Kirkwall that we’d end up here. That we’d make friends,” Varric looked between Hawke and Fenris and then the pyre, “Or lovers.”

There was a sniffle from Merrill as Varric spoke.

“We fought hard and played hard, but none more than Anders. Anders and Justice were something we will likely never see again. Bruised and battered, Anders cared for the downtrodden of Darktown and wanted to make the world a better place. He had a vision in his head of what the world could be... and he died for it.” Varric swallowed, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. “He was a man who stood by his beliefs. A man who may very well have changed our world. Who worked tirelessly night and day – healing, fighting, writing his manifesto.”

Hawke coughed to hide a sob and stepped forward. “So much to write, so much left unwritten. A life cut short too soon. A light that will always shine.” Hawke tossed the pages onto the roaring flame. 

The trinkets and paper were all they had to burn. There was no way to get Anders’ body from Kirkwall so they commemorated him the best they could. 

There was a shuffling and then Fenris stepped forward, he held up a bottle of wine and tipped some to the earth. “You damned, infuriating mage. You weren’t supposed to die on us.” He took a swig and passed it on. 

Each person said their bit and then it fell quiet. Varric stared into the fire, lost in thought, before shaking it off and stepping back.

“Another life cut short. More stories left unwritten. Though perhaps, one day, I can write what should have been.”

He knew his absence would eventually be noticed, so Varric stepped back. He said tearful goodbyes, that included many rib-crushing hugs, and took his leave. 

The walk back to Kirkwall felt colder and emptier than the walk to the memorial. The world would forever seem colder and emptier.


End file.
